Short Story: Death Ate My French Fries

Its bony fingers hovered over the crispy potato strips. "May I?" 

        

I nodded absently and replied, "Help yourself,” as I waved my hand towards the plate, giving permission.

It picked up a fry and dipped it in ketchup. "Thank you," it said. It ate the fry in one bite and let out a satisfied sigh. "A guilty pleasure, I'm afraid. One that I rarely get to indulge." It sat down beside me and reached for a second fry, which quickly followed the first.

 "That's unfortunate," I replied as I picked up a fry. "Fries are my favorite salty food." I waited until it dipped its fry in the ketchup before dipping my own. "I'd think, being Death, you'd be able to indulge in all sorts of guilty pleasures."

 "You'd think, but my schedule keeps me hopping. No time to really indulge in anything. So, thank you again for this rare treat," Death replied. Another fry disappeared into the blackness of its rough-spun cowl.

 "You're welcome," I said as I picked up the last fry and swirled it in the ketchup.

 Death watched as I took a bite and then wiped its bony fingers on a corner of its robe, stood, and turned to me. "Now, if you don't mind, I am on a tight schedule," it said as it offered me its skeletal hand.

 I took it without thinking and stood up. I turned and saw myself on the sofa. A half-eaten french fry in my hand, a dab of ketchup gleamed at the corner of my mouth.

 I looked at Death. "Am I...?"

 "Yes."

 "The french fry?"

 "Yes."

 "They were delicious, so crispy and salty."

 "They were, but were they worth it?"

 I thought for a moment. A smile spread across my face. "Yes, they were," I replied.